


Love Drunk, In The Middle With It

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [15]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clubbing, F/F, Jealousy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: This is all new to Clara: the club and the noise and the full-body thrum of the bass. So is the woman by her side.





	Love Drunk, In The Middle With It

**Author's Note:**

> From allnewtpir's prompt:
> 
> _Missy sees 13/Clara in a nightclub. 13 leaves for drinks, Missy swoops in for a dance. 13 sees this and is flummoxed at the latest sexiness._
> 
> Glorious fun to write.

They’ve been dancing for what feels like hours. This is still all acutely new to Clara – being in a club and being drunk in the presence of the person she loves, and she’s not sure if the novelty will ever wear off. The last face of the person she loves, although wonderful, had not been one for alcohol, or loud music, or dancing. There had been quiet evenings in with cups of tea, and sometimes rock concerts if she really, really begged – LiveAid 1985 was a particular highlight – but otherwise, there had been nothing of this sort. Nothing of this sweaty, exhilarating, wild type.

A hand takes hold of her wrist, drawing her back to herself from the place her thoughts have wandered off to. Her sphere of awareness is brought back to the dance floor, the pounding thrum of the bass, and the crush of bodies all around her. The hand now encircling her wrist belongs to the only body of interest – the Doctor is garbed in her usual t-shirt, but her teal trousers have been swapped out in favour of a pair of similarly-coloured shorts, and the effect is distinctly striking, not to mention somewhat distracting. (Clara is not, regardless of what anyone may say, fixated on her partner’s legs. The accusation is absurd, and frankly insulting. True, but insulting.)

The legs alone might have been enough to short-circuit Clara’s brain, but about five minutes after arriving in the packed club, the Doctor had flipped her hair back off her neck in the heat, flashed Clara a jubilant grin, and knotted the front of her t-shirt up to expose her stomach, all while shouting something about thermodynamics in Clara’s ear that she’d only half-heard and half-cared about. She’d seen far more of the Doctor’s skin in the past, but not usually in public, and the effect is so intoxicating that combined with the quadvods she’s consuming at a rate of knots, it’s taking all of her considerable focus to maintain a publicly decent standard of behaviour.

“You alright?” the Doctor mouths, and it takes Clara a moment to fully drag her attention back to the club, and she realises that her partner is dragging her closer to her. As the crowd around them moves and pulses, Clara finds herself pressed flush against the Doctor, her partner’s mouth millimetres from her ear as they’re forced together by the ebb and flow of those dancing around them. Clara had already felt exposed enough in her playsuit – some ridiculous Earth thing she’d picked up with cutouts in wholly impractical places – but now, with the Doctor’s exposed skin pressing against hers, she swallows thickly and tries to keep her mind on appropriate thoughts. 

“You seem… a bit out of it,” the Doctor shouts in her ear, but the noise around them is so great that Clara can hardly hear her. This place had seemed like such a good idea at the time – an alien club on an alien beach with alien drinks – but Clara hadn’t banked on the oppressive heat, or the sheer noise of the place. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” Clara yells back, the Doctor leaning towards her to try and hear her. Clara tries not to think about how the pose exposes the arc of the Time Lady’s neck to her, or how much she wants to press her lips to it, to trail them up her partner’s jaw, to- 

She snaps herself out of the train of thought with some difficulty, swallowing thickly and smiling at the Doctor with as much reassurance as she can muster. 

“I’m fine,” she shouts, flashing her a smile. “Really.” 

“More drinks?” 

Clara dithers for a moment. More drinks seem like a dangerous idea, but it might buy her some alone time to regain valuable composure, so she nods. 

“Same again?” 

She nods again, and the Doctor presses a quick kiss to her lips before dancing away through the throng, gangly and uncoordinated and entirely, unfairly irresistible _._  

“Hello,” purrs a horribly familiar voice seconds later, and Clara’s head whips around to take in the sight of- 

“God, that’s unfair,” Clara mutters, raising her eyebrows as she takes in the sight of Missy, clad in a wholly impractical white shirt topped with a black corset, and a pair of black shorts that seem unreasonably short, even by this place’s standards. “Really. Very unfair.” 

“Nice to see you too,” Missy grins at her wolfishly, allowing the movement of the crowd to carry her closer to Clara. “Puppy.”

“What do you want?” Clara asks, trying valiantly not to notice how sheer Missy’s blouse is. “Why are you here?” 

“For a good time,” Missy pouts, and it’s then that Clara realises that she’s hearing Missy inside her own head. “Yes, dear, I’m in your mind. Try to think pure, unsexy thoughts.”

“But you… you can’t…”

“Oh, please. I’m not going to yell at you like an animal,” Missy rolls her eyes with exaggerated flair. “Do you want to dance, or not?”

Clara’s gaze flicks over to the bar. She can see the bright flash of her partner’s hair, but the throng is too thick to ascertain how long she might be, so she shrugs and throws caution to the wind. Missy takes two steps closer, her arm resting on Clara’s shoulder as she comes to face her, and together, they start to move to the rhythm that’s pounding through the floor.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor has a perfect view of the dance floor from where she’s standing at the bar, and even if she didn’t, she’s completely attuned to Clara. She can feel her partner’s intoxication racing through her with every breath she draws, and she can all but taste the desire that pulses just below the surface of Clara’s rational mind, but neither of those things are what draw her attention back to the seething mass of revellers below her.

Clara is dancing with someone else. 

Worse still, that someone else is Missy. 

She supposes she ought to feel a sense of shock that Missy has found them, yet instead all she can feel is jealousy as she watches Missy’s hands mesh together behind Clara’s neck, their bodies gyrating in harmony. She allows her mind to flick out, probing past the incurious, dull minds of the humans around them and aiming for Missy’s consciousness, and she gasps as she makes contact with her oldest friend’s thoughts.

 _Lust_.

It burns at the forefront of Missy’s mind, hot and insidious, and the Doctor steps away from the bar, all thoughts of drinks abandoned. She pushes through the throng, her mind set on Clara, and as she approaches her partner and her oldest friend, she becomes intensely aware of the pheromones in the stifling air. She pushes through the final circle of clubgoers, and at the sight of her Missy steps away from Clara at once, her expression full of mischief and her eyes dark with desire. 

“Thete,” she says with a smirk, as Clara wheels around to look at the Doctor, guilt written across her face as she smooths down her playsuit. “So good to see you again.” 

“What are you doing here, Missy?” the Doctor asks flatly, taking hold of Clara’s wrist and pulling her firmly and insistently towards her. Clara relents at once, meek and compliant, and for that the Doctor is grateful. “We didn’t invite you.” 

“I thought I’d surprise you.” 

Clara’s body settles, warm and familiar, against her chest as she scowls over at Missy. “Consider me surprised. Why were you dancing like that with my girlfriend?” 

“Getting her warmed up for you,” Missy blows her a kiss. “You’re welcome.” 

Before either of them can say any more, the Time Lady turns and vanishes into the crowd, and the Doctor becomes acutely aware that Clara is looking up at her with pupils blown wide with desire, her teeth worrying at her lower lip in a way that is somewhere between unconsciously seductive and consciously concerned. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see you?” she growls to her partner, who lets out a low whimper in response to the undercurrent of jealousy in her voice. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the two of you?” 

“I…” Clara lets out a low, breathless moan as the Doctor twists one hand into her hair, turning her head to the side and kissing the column of her throat, fleetingly enough to tease. “I just… you weren’t…”

“I wasn’t what?” the Doctor can feel Clara’s self-control diminishing with each passing second, and she fights the urge to simply drag her outside and let Clara have her way with her. “Wasn’t picking up on your needs? Oh, I picked up on your needs. But it’s fun, sometimes, to keep you wanting. Humans get so desperate.” 

“I…” 

“What do you want?” the Doctor murmurs, settling her hands on Clara’s waist and pressing another languid kiss to her neck. “Tell me.” 

“You,” Clara whimpers again, and it’s such a beautiful, desperate sound that it’s all the Doctor can do not to smirk. “You, please…” 

“Should we go back to the TARDIS?” 

Clara nods, emphatically, and the Doctor laughs, half-breaking the spell. “Well then,” she presses a less chaste kiss to Clara’s neck. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

Clara yawns, exhaustion settling over her as she lays her head on the Doctor’s shoulder. The sheets are twisted around her legs in a way that isn’t wholly comfortable, but she’s too tired to care as her body begins to come down from the euphoria of minutes previously.

“Happy?” the Doctor asks, stroking soothing patterns over the bare skin of Clara’s back and smiling. There’s still a warm buzz-like feeling pulsing around her body, accompanied by the lingering after-effects of the alcohol they’d consumed, but it’s passing now, being superseded by fatigue and satisfaction.

“Mm.” 

“Satisfied?”

“Mm.”

“Don’t use Missy to make me jealous again.”

“But it had,” Clara breaks off to yawn. “Such a lovely end result.” 

“Such a lovely end result that you only had to ask for, and you would have got,” the Doctor reminds her. “You’re a bad girl sometimes.” 

“Only for you.” 

“Yes, only for me. So Missy can keep her hands to herself, next time.”


End file.
